


Steps on the Bifrost

by dornishsphinx



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Nohr | Conquest Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornishsphinx/pseuds/dornishsphinx
Summary: The Nohrian army advances along the path to a hollow victory, but even those who know of the ruined kingdom beneath their marching feet—and of a greater enemy left unchallenged—cannot help but by swept along by the tides of war, and the circumstances chosen for them.





	Steps on the Bifrost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for andthenalittledash over on tumblr for Nagamas 2018.

Anankos had barely stopped toying with Takumi’s shell when she fled the throne room, great slashes of sapphire already beginning to rip their way up her arms and crawl their way across her face. She should have realised that her beloved would follow her, but some part of her, deep and cold and chosen second too many times before, had presumed he’d stay at his lord’s side. It would have been a cruel parting to be sure, but no matter the hours she’d agonised over the comfort or kiss she might have given him, she still had not the words to say goodbye.

Even so, it was his arms she found herself in when she toppled over, exhausted; a mockery of a dip, like this was just another evening of dance practice. His clothes soaked through where her body touched his, and when she peered up at him through eyes half-shut in pain, his face was horror-struck.

“Hey. Smile for me, won’t you?” she asked, before he could demand an explanation. Her own smile was bright as she could make it. “That’s what you always ask of me, isn’t it?”

His face was still desperate as he balanced her with one arm and started rummaging through his pockets like his life depended on it. Medicines were useless in the case of curses, as she’d been told when she was a child and had asked why she couldn’t let the water dance in a constant rhythm, but Azura couldn’t find the energy within her to make him stop. Nor the heart.

“Smile for me. Please,” she said, with gentle insistence.

Inigo smiled, though his eyes were glimmering and it was clearly forced. A lot of his smiles were, and she mourned that she wouldn’t see a real one before it was all over, but it was better than nothing.

“That’s right. Lovely.”

***

“Did you ever think about what you’d name your children?”

The copse of trees muffled the sounds of camp around them, creating the illusion they were, if not alone, cut off from everyone else. Laslow paused, still bent over with the laces of his dancing slipper only half-tied.

“I never really considered such a thing,” he said. He finished the knot, flexed his feet, and, satisfied, straightened back up. “Though I suppose…”

He considered, for a long moment.

“Soleil.”

“Soleil?” The name was unfamiliar to her. “It’s pretty, but why that name?”

Laslow stood. He moved his right foot behind him and let his whole body lean back onto it, stretching his arms out to the sides and up, in a wide, circular arc. His hands, palms upwards, halted level with his head.

“The _soleil_ is a movement from a certain school of dance back home.” He remained in the position for a moment longer before letting his arms drop and stepping back into a normal stance. “It symbolises being bathed in sunlight, or just the sun in general. I’ve always liked it.” 

 _Back home_ , again, with no name. The urge to ask him where his home was grabbed at her yet again, stronger this time, but she stopped herself. He couldn’t tell her about this mysterious _back_ _home_ , just as she couldn’t tell him about Valla, be it of old or be it of the ruin beneath their feet.

“It’s always a pleasure to see the sun rise again, after all. How about you?”

Azura ignored all the old family names that occurred to her and chose another: “Shigure.” It had always struck her as a good name.

“Shigure?”

She smiled. “A light shower of rain.”

“My, it seems we truly are fated. What do you say to Rainbow for our third?”

Even as she joined him in laughter, she couldn’t help but recall that there was a Vallite name that would have been perfect for such a theme: _Iris_ , after one of Valla’s first queens.

“What’s with the sudden curiosity?” he asked. “Interested in starting a family?”

She sent him a coy smile. Laslow’s cheeks burnt red and he averted his gaze, but then a wistful look came over him.

“You know,” he said, voice melancholy, “I lost my true family when I was a child. I was able to find something resembling it, but it’s not the same.” His face, if still a little embarrassed, was soft when he looked back over at her. “It would be nice, to create one together.”

She considered telling him she’d lost her family too, but given that he was retainer to a man who called himself her brother, that path would have led to nothing but more questions she couldn’t answer.

“I never really felt as though I belonged with the Nohrians, nor the Hoshidans,” she said instead. It was a poor substitute, but true enough, in its own way. “Not like Corrin does. Having a family together would be nice, I think.”

Laslow smiled; she couldn’t help returning it. It fell off his face, though, and an odd expression replaced it.

“Did I ever tell you that I come from somewhere far away? Very far.” He hesitated, clearly formulating what he was going to say next carefully. “If I were to go back, I would never be able to return. Would you—would you want to go with me?”

It was an unexpected question; the surprise must have shown on her face, because his blush spread even further over his cheeks and he stammered as he quickly rushed to explain himself.

“You don’t have to, of course—it’s just that, since you told me you don’t really feel like you fit in Nohr and Hoshido, perhaps we could make a fresh start? You, me, however many Soleils or Shigures or _Rainbows_ we’ll have. We could visit my parents—my other parents—they’d be there too, and I’m so sure you’d like them.”

The look on his face was so tentative that her heart ached. For a moment, she fantasised about what it could have been like in a world where she might have made the same offer—offered even more than he could. But becoming royalty of Valla, that ruin with little chance of restoration, was more a curse than anything else now.

The wind rippled through the trees.

“That sounds lovely,” she said.

Laslow breathed out beside her, but before he could speak again she started to hum an old Vallite tune all the talk of the weather had reminded her of. It had once been a thanksgiving to Anankos, so she skipped over the verses of praise and onto how the dragon’s tears had first met with the fires of creation to forge the first bridge to the world above. (The existence of Valla was implicit, something so fundamentally understood mentioning it by name was unnecessary; it was just _here_.)

Laslow began to sway with the rhythm, and a few bars in, he began to dance.

***

Azura had never been close to her Nohrian family, in the literal as well as metaphorical sense. As the campaign wore on, however, that which Azura had always believed, but hoped was inaccurate—that the Hoshidans had little regard for her either—became a certainty. Kindness, likely performed on Queen Mikoto’s behalf and out of some sense of charity, was not closeness. It helped to think that way anyway, now that she was fighting on the side that had killed Takumi and were likely to slay the others too.

Still, if there had been a distance with Queen Mikoto’s own children, the average Hoshidan soldier cared even less for her wellbeing; she was nothing but another Nohrian now that Corrin had defected, as had been made clear to her when they’d torn her from the castle at Shirasagi and tried leaving her corpse at Fort Dragonfall as a message. (They were the same in theory, the two of them, hostages to the light and the dark, but it was always going to be Corrin’s choices that mattered, not hers.)

The lance fighters bearing down on her, venom in their eyes and curses on their lips, were not the first Hoshidans to try and rip her apart, but it was looking more and more certain they’d be the last. She considered, briefly, sapping their will to fight through song. There may have been no time left to stop the momentum of their thrusts, even if she were to relax their hearts enough to stop beating, and it might have been yet another waste of the pendant’s power, but still, even knowing it was of no use, she curled around herself and the stone on her chest, and would have begun to sing—

But there was a thicket, now. She looked on in confusion, slowly unfolding out of her defensive stance. The branches twisted around the soldiers like tentacles of some great octopus. They shouted and struggled as it devoured them, tangled in the thorns.

“They’re going to get out,” said Laslow, behind her. She turned. His hands were rooted in the earth and his voice was urgent and low. “It won’t hold them much longer.”

She stared at him; she couldn’t help it. His eyes were downcast, his hands and body trembling, as though he was unused to using the veins.

It had truly been a secret then, from everybody. Not just from her.

She turned, in a daze, and with a swipe of her lance, the skirmish was over. (Corrin would likely not approve, but Corrin didn’t know what it was Jakob did in the aftermath of battle, nor that Laslow had the dragon’s blood, nor the woman her mother had truly been. This would be one thread in a wide web of secrets and lies and deceptions; nothing, really.)

Laslow gasped and let go. The thicket receded, slowly and at an ambling pace, like it was an animal that had lost interest in the humans playing with it. She moved to kneel beside him, the movement half a stumble in the rush to get over to him. She snatched up his right hand with her own red-stained ones. There was dirt under his fingernails—he hadn’t taken care when he’d plunged them into the ground, it seemed—and even now, his arms were shaking. He gently touched her face with his other hand, its faint tremors all the more obvious when they were against her skin. Their eyes met for a long moment.

“They were going to kill you,” he said, the response to an unasked question.

They looked at one another for a moment longer before she kissed him, fleeting but without haste, and left the matter at that, helping one another to their feet and moving onward to the rest of the enemies they’d been tasked with eliminating. She wasn’t one to pry. She’d have been the worst kind of hypocrite if she was.

Still, when the battle was done, after they’d both remained silent on the subject of Hoshidan combatants found dead with deep scratches all over their corpses and they lay tangled together themselves, Laslow asleep, she lay awake with thoughts darting around her head like shoals of fish, this way and that. Her eyes idly tracked the veins which ran blue down his wrists and into his freshly-scrubbed hands.

A dozen thoughts had occurred to her, though only one had stayed lodged in her mind all this time; the first, in fact, that had sprung to mind when she’d seen his hands buried in the soil.

He’d once told her that he wasn’t supposed to exist in her world, though he couldn’t tell her why he came to be there, or how. She’d told him she understood, and she indeed had done, since she was under a similar obligation.

Maybe—

She touched his wrist lightly, just over the blue veins, and felt him come awake.

***

Once, when she had been the most wretched child among dozens of wretched children imprisoned within the circular walls of the royal keep at Windmire, Azura had experienced the most curious dream. Figures dressed in Vallite robes of the purest white had crowded around her in a version of Valla that no longer existed, each and every one vowing, with all the zeal of a holy mission, to ensure her happiness. They had enveloped her with such kindness and good cheer that when she awoke, her chest had felt light for the first time in months.

Beneath the open sky in a world at war, it had been a surprise to experience the dream once again: she was older now, after all, and had thought herself to have shrugged off the childish need for false comfort. The old figures had appeared before her tiny form once more—she’d still been a child in this new dream; it had felt natural in the way everything in dreams comes naturally—and a man, young and handsome, had kissed her on the forehead and promised a lifetime of smiles before sweeping her into one of the dances she’d been taught before the devastation, the traditional choral accompaniment that could not possibly exist in a reality where there were barely enough uncorrupted Vallites to form a duet soaring so clear and strong that her dream-self knew they could hear it in the world above.

What she had shivered at in daylight, even as it had felt natural in the dream in the way everything in dreams feels natural, was that the figures surrounding them were as distant and illusory as the soldiers that haunted Valla’s remnants, and the song to which they’d danced had included those verses she had suppressed in her memory, praise of the great Anankos echoing all around them over and over and over.

***

“I’ve taken stranger leaps of faith,” was Laslow’s only response.

She held his hand in her own, her fingers entwined with his. The water was hers to command, for however much longer she had; it would have taken and protected Laslow quite ably had she asked it, but she knew her touch would soothe any fears of drowning he might have had.

She pulled them through the water easily. At first, they were boneless as turtles gliding along a jet stream, but then she pulled them through faster, and faster, until they were darting down and down with such speed and grace that she imagined a current in their wake.

When they emerged the other end, falling out of the water in the same manner one might have fallen into it in the world above, she took Laslow into her arms and stayed with him in the air for a few breaths longer than necessary; a moment of self-indulgence, the water holding them up there to hover with all the rubble of Valla like a pair of courting dragonflies. She then let the water slowly start to disperse, the two of them floating down to the ground as a bubble does, landing elegantly together on their feet.

It was an unnecessary use of the pendant’s power, of course. Still, she’d used it so many times now, for Nohr and for Hoshido and for Corrin; if it was too late for her to aid in the fight against Anankos, if that fight would ever come, what was a moment of unleashing the pendant’s magic for herself, to will the water to dance around them and see how it would turn her beloved’s face into something akin to a dazed mortal gazing upon her like an oceanic goddess, a creature of power and majesty?

Besides, those priestesses who’d lectured her about restraint were all dead, Anankos’ puppets, or both. What did they know?

“You make the water dance almost as beautifully as you,” said Laslow. There was a slight stagger to his movements, and he leant back against one of the few pieces of stonework still anchored to the ground.

“None dance as finely as you but the water, love,” she said, smile transforming into a full grin, the ecstasy of the power and the water obeying her making her feel buoyant. “I just thought to give you a suitable accompaniment.”

“So, you were the Nestrian dancer, then,” he said. “I thought it might be. The way she moved, the steps she used, they were too familiar.”

“You’re not going to turn me in for the assassination attempt of our king, then?”

Perhaps it was the power still coursing through her, or perhaps it was because she knew Laslow, and knew who he’d pick between that dastard and herself, but she stared at him, unflinching.

“It was dangerous. If they’d found you—”

“Nobody guessed it was me,” she said. “None but you have the same eye for footwork, it seems. Not even my hair gave the game away. I did consider a wig, but there was no time to find one, and I thought it would be fine as is.”

 _Gods_ , but it felt good to talk without second-guessing every word.

Laslow still looked concerned, so she changed topic. “This is Valla,” she said to someone else for the first time in years. “This is my home. This is where I grew up. This is the kingdom Anankos destroyed.”

“So, you are a Vallite, after all. That’s why you’ve not been able to talk freely.”

“Is it why _you_ haven’t been able to talk freely?”

Laslow hesitated before nodding. “Yes. I’ve known of it for years, though I’m not a Vallite myself.” A wave of disappointment hit Azura, but she weathered it. Laslow was still hers, no matter from whence he came. Besides, that he knew of Valla at all, that they’d shared this knowledge and curse together, was more than she could have ever hoped.

“How can you use dragon veins?”

She would have begged the gods he’d not mention Anankos’ name, but she’d never taken any god but the Silent Dragon, and he was now the enemy.

“Anankos gave us his blood.”

Rage bit into her heart. So, he was with Anankos. After all that had happened, after knowing she would never face him herself and make him answer for what he’d done, he’d managed to steal something else; her family, her home, and her lover, all warped.

“ _Anankos_ ,” she said. It came out in a hiss, the sibilance continuing on a moment too long, serpentine.

Laslow reached out to touch her, but stopped short when she straightened and fixed him with a righteous glare.

“Anankos killed my father, you know. They were friends, once, but then he went mad and killed him. He turned the Vallites into these _things_. He turned _Valla_ into _this_. And still, you’ve taken his side?” She thrust an arm out; the water moved with her. “You’ve taken _his side_?”

Laslow wouldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how she tried to capture them.

“My mother and father were killed by a dragon too,” he said. His voice was slow, and quiet. “He wasn’t mad, I don’t think, but I don’t know why else he did what he did. He ravaged the land, killed everyone he came across. He killed my mother and father, though they were friends with him once as well, or at least with the man he was. The greatest of friends. Anankos gave them the graves we couldn’t. And he let the flowers grow in that world once again.”

One tear, then another rolled down Laslow’s cheeks. Azura thought about wiping them away, but before she could move, he’d already dashed them away himself.

“It’s not the mad dragon we’re working for,” he said, voice steadier now. He finally met her gaze. “It was the remnants of his sanity we met. He gave us his blood, and we were to find and protect his daughter in Hoshido, though in the end, she’d been taken to Nohr.”

He paused.

“And we never found…”

He stopped.

“You found her,” said Azura. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised.

Her anger had subsided, somewhat, his tears and tale of woe dampening it into faintly-crackling embers, but years of bitter resentment and enmity for all those who would traffic with the god who had made her an exile were hard to wash away. She lapsed into silence, and stared out across the lake.

“There’s something you should know, if you hate Anankos so,” said Laslow. “Laslow is the name he gave me; it was something of an entry fee into this world.”

“Then what is your true name?”

“Inigo,” he said. He almost seemed shy, a faint blush coming over his features. _Inigo_. Somehow it fit him far more nicely than _Laslow_ ever had.

“Inigo,” she said, trying it out on her tongue. “Inigo. A lovely name.”

Inigo smiled, but then a shadow crossed over his face. “There’s a way to get down here,” he said. “If we could bring Prince Xander here, perhaps we could stop the war.”

“There’s no stopping the war.”

“Prince Xander is a reasonable man. If we can just tell him about Anankos—”  

 _Tell them_. Tell those under whose tender care she’d been left alone to rot in the dark, tormented, where if the Hoshidans hadn’t stolen her away, she would have met her death at another child’s blade, or by poison in a chalice; tell those for whom she was now trapped into fighting by Corrin’s decision (for Azura, who had lived her life among oaths and silent curses and prisons, had never been able to make a decision that mattered in her life.)

“It matters little if he’s reasonable,” she said. “Prince Takumi is dead. Queen Mikoto and King Sumeragi are dead. Nohrians are nothing but cutthroats and reprobates to the Hoshidans after all that has passed, and they’re far too stubborn to clasp hands with a nation of scoundrels, no matter who their common enemy might be. Garon would have Xander executed the moment he stepped out of line anyway. It’s too late. It’s too _late_.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Azura felt the cold bite of the pendant’s chain against her skin, and the faint but ever-present power that coursed through its core. _No. No, I’m not._

“In my experience,” he said, a hard-won certainty on his face, “There’s always just a little more time left than you think.”

***

She closed her eyes, before feeling something smooth and round placed in her palm. She opened her eyes again, frowning. It was a small sphere, colours dancing around it like there was a rainbow trapped within. 

“The mad dragon’s host sacrificed himself,” Inigo said, his voice weak and hold uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure if he needed to stop her bursting or flying away. If he didn’t dry off soon, she noted vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, he’d catch a cold. “No matter how Father begged him not to. And still he got to come back. My parents ought to have died, and still they got live. There are worlds where fates can be averted. There are worlds where Anan—”

He gasped in pain as a sombre cheer rose in the distance, the Nohrians acknowledging their hollow victory. She felt his fingertips begin to drip where they rested upon her skin. Alarm shot through her and she scrabbled for his fingers—now that he’d shut up about the Silent Dragon, they were fine, though the tips of his fingers were gone along with part of his nails, down past the quick, water dripping from them like a mockery of blood.

“Please,” said Inigo. He whispered short pleas into her shoulder, abandoning all argument in favour of begging. Even without looking at his face she knew he looked wretched, his shoulders slumped and tears already starting to streak down his cheeks.

She touched the orb, weakly. Its aura was strong, but secure and protective, like the stories of the kindly god upon which she’d been raised. She traced its surface with a finger, watching the tracks of water left behind, then curled her hand around it.

“Laslow?” came Prince Xander’s voice. She raised her head and saw him walk through the door, a few more furrows in his brow and concern lurking beneath his usual stern expression. “Are you with—”

The last thing that Azura ever witnessed of either the world above or below was Xander’s eyes landing on the pair of them and widening, everything warping and spasming as the the two of them disappeared from his life as suddenly as they had entered it.


End file.
